


Floating

by TheVineSpeaketh



Series: Feels for a Friend [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, Requited Love, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Unrequited Love, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And really, he wasn’t floating. But Thor made him feel that way, with his hair tightly braided in places, the plaits shimmering under the dull candlelight above them. He made him feel lightheaded with his well-fitted tunic of a deep maroon that grasped every inch of him like a starved lover. And Loki took another drink, because he shouldn’t be so suddenly and ridiculously attracted to his older brother, and shouldn’t be so excited by his admittedly unusual state of dress.</p><p>Tumblr fanfic request from lokifalls. I hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floating

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fanfic request on Tumblr from the lovely lokifalls, for any Thor/Loki. So I opted out for hurt/comfort. Don't worry, it gets better in the end.
> 
> Thank you for the request!

It was sort of like he had suddenly started floating. Except, obviously, he wasn't, because Odin disapproved of floating in the middle of dinner. Loki hadn't tried to float since the one incident when he was younger which ended with a lot of misplaced silverware, a heavily-embarrassed Frigga, Odin covered in a mixture of hearty broth and Asgardian ale, and a guffawing Thor trying to dislodge a hunk of meat he'd sucked into his windpipe.

So, no, he definitely was not floating. But he didn't understand why he felt like he was.

 _Well_ , he thought to himself, picking rather uncomfortably at the sleeve of his best tunic, _that's not necessarily true, now is it._ He always picked at his sleeves when he was nervous, the habit having replaced the one he had a while ago where he simply ran his hands through his hair. He had always ended up looking terribly disheveled, and with some aid from Frigga, he had dropped the habit. Not that picking at your sleeves was any better, though. He kept doing it, despite Frigga's scolding look that clearly displayed how much she disliked it when he frayed the ends of his sleeves. _But now you’re just changing the subject._

Because he was floating, he was sure of it. He couldn’t bring himself to glance across the table at where the reason he was floating was sitting, sipping on his ale, and practicing much restraint in doing so. He’d always loved ale as much as he loved women— _that’s right, Loki, **women**_ —but tonight was a special occasion where he had to behave as a gentleman would, and he followed the rules to a T.

Because Odin had a very diplomatically important friend over who brought his very lovely daughter and Thor, being the eldest, was probably asked to consider her as a prospective bride in the future, which was why he was on his best behavior tonight.

Loki brought his goblet up to his mouth very suddenly and took a long sip of cherry wine. And maybe he closed his eyes tight afterward because the wine had a bit of a kick to it he wasn’t expecting, but again, he knew that wasn’t it. Loki was quite used to doing little bouts of magic that Odin couldn’t sense, just for practice, and flicking his goblet to add an extra something to his drink was always a favorite party trick of his. He’d never told Thor about it, oh no. Thor would probably abuse it.

Not tonight, though. Thor wouldn’t abuse it tonight, even if Loki had offered it freely, because his shining blue eyes were very interested in the pale maiden sitting with her father at their table, and so he was drinking less than he usually imbibed to keep himself from getting the slightest bit buzzed.

And really, he wasn’t floating. But Thor made him feel that way, with his hair tightly braided in places, the plaits shimmering under the dull candlelight above them. He made him feel lightheaded with his well-fitted tunic of a deep maroon that grasped every inch of him like a starved lover. And Loki took another drink, because he shouldn’t be so suddenly and ridiculously attracted to his older brother, and shouldn’t be so excited by his admittedly unusual state of dress.

He knew Frigga was looking at him with concern etched into her beautiful features, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at his mother, either. Odin was doing his best to keep the attention of the table away from his youngest, possibly sensing something was wrong with him, and Loki was slightly grateful for the distraction. It had been half an hour at the table and Loki hadn’t even once picked up his fork. He was drinking more than usual, too. Maybe **that’s** why he was floating.

_Don’t try to fool yourself. You know what is happening._

And he could have cried, because it was so sad. And he could have laughed, because it was so funny. It was a strange combination of both, this sudden affection for his brother, and he knew that it would only bring him to ruin.

Especially with the delicate little lily sitting at the table being suddenly thrust into the picture. He refrained from reaching for his goblet, instead picking angrily at his sleeve again. Her hair was nearly white, her eyes a sultry brown, her skin alabaster and crafted by the grace of every deity that existed. And Thor was smitten, he could tell, because he was enchanted by her every word, smiling gently at her, coaxing her to grow more open with him. And Loki didn’t miss the happy glances the two fathers sent each other’s way, and it infuriated him. It infuriated him how Frigga seemed so glad for this too. How Thor was oblivious to his younger brother’s obvious discomfort. In the face of his gallantly charming distraction, Loki had faded into a decoration, his constant shuffling mere background noise.

And he was still floating.

“I do so adore Asgard, my lord,” the little creature said demurely, her cheeks flushed attractively and her posture submissive. “The architecture is absolutely stunning. Your home is certainly beautiful.”

“Have you a taste for flowers?” Thor asked kindly, his eyes sparkling again. “After dinner, with permission from your father, of course, I could show you the gardens, if that is to your liking.”

She lit up like a star, her smile bright and guileless. “I would be delighted, my lord. If my father shall permit it, I would be honored to join you.” She looked to her father, who echoed her smile and gave a small nod.

“I see no reason why not,” he said, and she kissed his cheek gently, a silent thanks, and oh, if only Thor’s face would look at **Loki** that way. Loki reached forward and grasped his goblet again, closing his eyes and drinking.

Next to him, he heard Odin lean in and whisper to Frigga, a smile in his voice, “I see you have chosen wisely again, dear wife. I daresay we should expect a smooth courtship and grandchildren within the year!”

Loki could feel it before he knew it happened; in his slightly-intoxicated state, his magic was not quite as reigned in, not quite as well looked-after, and it lashed out unexpectedly, racing from Loki’s fingers into his goblet. It shattered quite unexpectedly, little shards of metal raining over Loki, a few sticking into his hand and slicing his fingers, the rest clanking to the floor or on his plate. Cherry wine dripped into his lap, and Loki was slightly thankful he had not eased up on his drinking, or else he would have sprayed Thor’s mistress and Frigga, and **that** would have been a debacle not worth the laughter he would inwardly express.

Frigga gasped, standing immediately and coming to Loki’s aid with a cloth. For a while she stood hovering uncertainly, as if she was unsure of where to start, but Loki simply waved her away with his uninjured hand. Ever the paragon of integrity, he kept his injured hand hidden and stood, his face stoic.

“I apologize profusely for the distraction,” he said to everyone, looking at no one in particular. “I must excuse myself for the remainder of dinner.”

He turned to the beautiful woman with whom no doubt his brother would rule the kingdom and bowed low, his black hair sweeping elegantly across his shoulder as he did so. “It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Prithee, do not let this incident disturb your appetite.” He then bowed to her father, who nodded sternly back, though the pair of guests looked more concerned than anything.

Loki took his plate with his free hand, feeling a bit of blood gathering in his hidden palm. After taking a moment to gather a few stray bits of the metal still left on the table, he straightened himself and, pointedly not looking at Thor, muttered, “Good eve,” and left. His footsteps echoed like a dark knell in the large dining chamber, and he made it a point to open and close the door silently behind him.

He made his way to the kitchens, stepping inside the hot room to find the cooks missing, no doubt breaking while they enjoyed their feast. He recalled Frigga saying the dessert was going to be chilled, a delicacy from the lady’s land, and Loki, standing in the middle of the kitchen with a bleeding hand, allowed himself a moment to express himself. He dropped the plate, letting it shatter and throw his untouched food across the floor. He breathed out a strangled breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, pressing his free hand to his forehead, closing his eyes tightly and gritting his teeth.

“My heart cannot be breaking,” he whispered to himself, over and over like a mantra. “My heart cannot be breaking.” He groaned, his legs feeling weak, and his body was no longer floating.

He opened his eyes, looking at his hand. Blood streamed from the little places where he was punctured by the metal, flickering gold embedded in his pale skin. The gold was reminiscent of Thor’s perfectly plaited hair and he shook, yanking the pieces from his skin and dropping them carelessly on the floor. He was ill with the thought that in a year’s time he may be surrounded by children with whitened gold hair, those same children begging him to read them stories or wishing to be with Uncle Loki. Loki knew that he would both love and hate those children, would adore the ones with bright blue eyes and golden hair, would give anything for them.

He sunk to the floor, his hands falling gracelessly still in his lap. “My heart cannot be breaking,” he whimpered, feeling terribly weak and angry with himself for becoming a slave to his emotions. He was the intellectual; he was not supposed to be so hung up over things like this. He was supposed to value being alone, and enjoy a life without constant interruption by irritatingly bright blondes and their stubborn love for adventure. But he also knew that only just this morning, when he had first seen Thor come down from his rooms, all tidied up and grinning from ear to ear, he had realized he was in love with his brother, and probably had been for a while. And if he ever needed a reason to be angry with him, or even just annoyed with him, now was the time. And he couldn’t find anything.

He wasn’t floating anymore, he was drowning.

“Loki?”

Panic struck him suddenly, because he **knew** that voice, and that voice should be booming with laughter at the table with his maiden and her father. He stood, staggering a little (he had forgotten he was drunk) and turning, his eyes wide and full of tears. Gone were the barriers he had spent so long perfecting, and instead, a drunken man stood, broken and crying like a child.

He just barely caught Thor’s previous look—calmness with just a hint of concern—before Thor was staring at him like he had just witnessed Loki’s death. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape. He made to step forward, but he paused, hesitating, as if unsure how to approach him. As if Loki was something he’d never seen before.

As if Loki was an animal.

Loki couldn’t help himself. The snarl that rolled onto his lips was unbidden, and he straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back slightly. His thin figure was far from imposing, but with the imperious sharpness in his eyes and the hard line of his lips, he was formidable. “What?” he spat, his voice hard despite the slight slur at the end. “What do you want with me on this night, oh mighty Thor?”

Thor’s look cut sharply into confusion before it returned, buoyant on his concerns. “I wanted to know if you are okay,” he replied, his voice gentle. “You were beside yourself all evening.”

“It should not matter to you,” Loki hissed in response, clenching both his fists. Thor’s brows lowered, his gaze at once turning defensive.

“Should not matter to me?” Thor repeated incredulously, his hands at his sides. He, too, had drawn to his full height, ready to fight back against Loki’s callousness. “And why should it not?”

“I am but your humble younger brother,” Loki said with obvious disdain. He took his injured hand in his other one, massaging gently at the aching wounds, not caring if he was agitating them further. Thor’s eyes shot down to his hand and back up just as quickly, but it hadn’t escaped Loki’s notice. “You should be out there with your new lady friend, showing her the gardens, wooing her. Gentlemen do not make offers and then refuse to see them through.” He laughed bitterly. “You are, after all, a gentleman tonight, are you not?”

Thor looked confused again, but the confusion stuck, his gaze shooting down to where Loki continued smearing little streaks of blood on his hands. “Loki,” he said, his voice low and wounded. His eyes were full of hurt as they rose to meet Loki’s gaze again, but Loki refused to let himself see it. “What is this madness? Have I done something to wrong you?”

Loki laughed again, that dry, ugly, bitter laugh that hurt coming up. “Done something to wrong me? Of course not, Thor; you are, after all, the brother that can do no wrong, the first in line to the throne. You are the one for whom the stars shine at night, the one over whom maidens swoon and the one for whom mountains crumble willingly to make a way.”

He could feel tears prickling at his eyes again, but he continued, his voice cracking in places. “You are the one for whom the candles glow golden, if only to mimic the fierce gold of your hair. You are the one for whom the sun shines, if only to emulate your smile. You are the one for whom the flames dance, if only so they could light your way, and for whom the waters run, if only so they could have but one chance to kiss your feet.”

He stopped, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes furiously, as if to get himself to stop, _because_ _now would be a good time to stop this madness, **stop** and **run** ,_ but he could not. The words tumbled out of their own accord, grateful to be in the air. “I am but a disease on this world if I ever were to say that Thor Odinson had done me any wrong. I am just the disgrace of this family, the blight to be looked over. I am but the raven-haired son of Odin who is pitiful in his pursuits, who pretends to prefer the solace of books and the wonders of magic if only to avoid the sudden revelation that he is nowhere near good enough to deserve the affections of the one who has snared his love; especially not with the wraith sitting delicately in the other room made of porcelain and woven sunbeams having so easily captured his heart.”

 _There. It is said._ He dropped his hands, opening his eyes again and looking at Thor. He expected the older son of Odin to be furious, to stomp his way out of the room and abandon Loki and his cursed words. He wasn’t expecting Thor to still be standing there when he opened his eyes, but he was, and he looked as if the entirety of his world had stopped. His face was blank but for his wide eyes, and Loki knew he was drunk and looked an awful sight, but Thor really didn’t need to stare like that.

After a moment of nothing but this uncomfortable silence, the terrible weight of what Loki said weighing heavily on both of them, Loki shifted on his feet, releasing his clasped hands. “Well,” he murmured, and Thor blinked, as if awoken from a trance. “I shall retreat now to my chambers. Do give the lady my best regards when you return to her.” He made to leave, then, to shoulder past Thor and push through the doorway, and he got as far as Thor’s shoulder before he was grasped by the arm and swung into the wall, suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of Thor.

As Thor spoke, Loki could feel it, feel the rumbling of it in his chest like deep thunder, and he could see his blue eyes dancing as he looked down at his younger sibling. He could feel the slight inexplicable wavering of Thor’s hand as it grasped his bicep gently. “Have I not told you,” Thor asked quietly, as softly as Loki believed his voice could get, “that you are beautiful? For you are, Loki; you are. I know no one but you, with your silver tongue, could do yourself justice, but to know you think yourself a monster is too much for me to bear.”

And then, Loki could feel the slight weight of gentle hands pulling through his hair, and his eyes slipped closed, a slight sigh escaping his lips. They stayed like this for but a moment before Thor continued, the rasp of his hair scratching against the smooth column of Loki’s throat as he spoke.

“If the sun shines for me, then the moon shines for you, if only to allow you to glow. If the flames dance for me, then the winds sing for you, if only to hope that you may sing back. If the waters run for me, then the flowers bloom for you, if only that you may grace them with your gaze.” He pressed a gentle kiss under Loki’s ear, and a blush bloomed like fire across his cheeks, drowning the drunken flush that had stained them only moments before.

“And this son of Odin, who can supposedly do no wrong,” Thor finished, his voice low, “has made a grievous mistake in not mentioning that in Loki’s hands has his heart always lain, ready to keep or dispose of at his convenience.”

Loki’s eyes shot open, his hands instantly coming to curl in Thor’s dark tunic, never mind the blood and wine that stained them. He looked into Thor’s eyes, at his open, smiling face, realizing that this was no trick, no sorcery somehow placed upon him by either drunkenness or desperation. “Really?” he asked, his heart suddenly rising, his body feeling light. “I dared not hope…”

Thor shushed him quietly with a light kiss, Loki’s hands grasping more tightly to his tunic as he pushed himself closer, their bodies pressed together tightly. They parted, Thor’s eyes sparkling as he smiled, and Loki could not help but mimic his grin on his own lips. “Nor had I.” And then their lips came together again, and Loki allowed himself to smile into it, raising his hands to lie across Thor’s broad shoulders. He was happy, so happy, he could hardly contain himself.

But most importantly, Loki was floating again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


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